


Quiet Like a Spider's Web

by sulutheblackpaladin



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Emotional Manipulation, Tim Drake Has Mental Health Issues, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Young Tim Drake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:06:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29928348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulutheblackpaladin/pseuds/sulutheblackpaladin
Summary: Quiet. It was worse when it was quiet. The tension felt like cords spun through the empty halls just waiting for him to move.
Relationships: Jack Drake & Janet Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45





	Quiet Like a Spider's Web

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work, hope you guys like it!

Quiet. It was worse when it was quiet. The tension felt like cords spun through the empty halls just  _ waiting  _ for him to move. Just waiting for him to take a step forward and feel the cold twine lock around his neck, squeezing tight before he could pull back to where he was. To where it was safe. 

Safe. 

But there were cords there too…

Something cracked, pulling him out of his thoughts. A glass held too tightly in large hands or a plate hurled into the wall, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Maybe he just imagined it. Maybe he heard the tension snap in the stale air of the unused manor. 

But it _ didn’t matter _ . The air was filled instead with the deep rumble of his father’s icy voice and his mother’s crisp reply. Just a few more minutes… As long as they didn’t return to shouting, it could be over in just a few more minutes. 

Over. 

Finished. The yelling was finished, but the quiet that followed would be worse than the screams. 

Quiet breeds tension. Cords spun even stronger. Lacing together like a spider’s trap. 

_ Click  _

No. 

_ Click _

Run. 

_ Click _

Hide. 

Something. 

Anything. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to move, the cords still heavy in the air. 

And the clicking grew stronger, closer, louder.

He set his jaw and stood tall. 

“Timothy.” 

The clicks stopped along with his mother’s steps across the polished wood floors. 

He straightened what little he could and met her eyes. 

“I read the reports for DI like you asked me to.” The boy was careful to keep his voice even as he spoke, despite the slight trembling in his fingers. He hadn’t done anything wrong, after all. He’d been careful to do all that his mother had asked him to before she’d last left and he’d even had time to write up summaries of everything important so she wouldn’t have to read them herself. There was nothing she could find fault in him for. 

But she pursed her lips, her stare piercing jagged wounds in the small boy before her. 

“You forgot to review the notes on the board meetings.”

Timothy’s heart sank. He didn’t remember her asking… 

Of course, he should be familiar with the proceedings of the board and how they operate. Reviewing the notes from the latest meetings would be extremely beneficial, he should have thought of it himself even when he did forget. And now he was weeks behind in work he could have been studying. 

His mother clicked her tongue in disappointment as Timothy dropped his gaze from her eyes halfway to the floor. 

The quiet stretched on for what seemed like forever before she spoke again, her voice hard as stone. “We are leaving in an hour. Do not think you deserve anything from us when you fail to keep up with your work.”

“Yes, mother.” The boy nodded stiffly as he turned toward the stairs, resisting the urge to run for them. His parents had only been home for two hours already and this was the first he’d seen of either one of them. 

He wouldn’t see his father, he knew. The man would have no desire to see him after he failed to accomplish anything of value. 

How had he managed to forget? He should have remembered, he should still remember now that he had been reminded. He racked his mind, searching for anything he may have overlooked in his last conversation with his mother, but he could remember nothing new. He would have to do better this time. 

He closed the door to his room and pulled out his laptop. He would not make the same mistake again. He would study until he could run his parents’ company himself, then they would have nothing to be disappointed in. They would have nothing to be angry at. He could take the burden of the company off their shoulders and there would be no more shattered plates in the kitchen. No more echoes through a quiet house. No more being left alone to work on his own. 

He didn’t hear them leave. 

He didn’t see the light fade when the sun went down. 

He didn’t feel the cords of tension snap. 

He didn’t notice when he started breathing again. 

_...but it was worse when it was quiet.  _

He could hear the quiet. It echoed through the empty halls. It couldn’t be broken. The sound of his typing got lost in the sea of darkness. His huge empty room swallowed everything that entered it like it had been swallowed by the manor itself. 

It was too big. Too much. 

He gathered his laptop and moved toward his closet. Small. Clothing hanging on every wall. 

He closed the door behind him and sank down in a corner, a blanket he’d left there wrapped around his thin shoulders as he leaned against the wall. He opened his laptop again and balanced it on his knees. This time, the tapping of his fingers across the keys filled the small space. And a part of him didn’t feel quite so alone.

Here, listening to the rhythm of his fingers and letting it fill his mind, he would work for as long as he could keep his eyes open. His parents would be back and they wouldn’t be disappointed this time. He would show them he was capable. He would show them he could help them. That they didn’t have to fight. He would show them they could stay… 

They could fill the empty house… 

They could work together…

They could fix this together…

And they wouldn’t have to leave. 

The rhythmic tapping of his fingers began to slow as his mind wandered, the words being fed into the computer too incomprehensible to use later. But the tapping kept him awake. The noise bouncing between the walls of the tiny room kept him here. It kept him safe. 

Safe. 

He was safe. 

He let his eyes close, focusing on the tapping as it grew further and further away. Slowly, as his consciousness slipped, so did his fingers. The noise was quieted as the boy fell into a peaceful sleep. 

_ But it was worse when it was quiet.  _

_ That’s when the nightmares came.  _


End file.
